


You Do the Math

by misura



Category: Switch (Manga)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about old partners, new friends and the importance of soup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Do the Math

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sententiae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sententiae/gifts).



> this, basically, is what happens when you helpfully suggest multiple possible plots in your DYW letter. people just mix and match and make a mess of things.

There was a fifth man inside the warehouse.

Tsuyuki'd reported four, and Takei had cracked a joke about how he'd be able to keep count of them on one hand ('kind of a modest haul for you, isn't it?'), and Tsuyuki had given him this look - not one that said he wasn't amused, which would have been fair enough, really; not everyone had the same sense of humor. _I don't understand you,_ Tsuyuki's look had said, instead. _And I don't really want to.._

Hell of a thing to be told by the guy who was supposed to have your back.

Still, Tsuyuki was one of them, and he got results. It wasn't as if anyone expected Takei to hang out with him after work, to take him dancing or something. (Horrible thought! Takei didn't need to put someone like Tsuyuki next to himself in order to look smart, charming and witty.)

Takei might keep track of the arrests they'd be making today on one hand, but it would still be a good result. He'd go home happy tonight, satisfied with a job well done.

One lousy week of surveillance, after maybe two weeks of careful digging by the Intelligence section. Quite possibly a new record. Quite possibly another step up for Tsuyuki, getting him one step closer to yet another medal. Takei didn't care. He wasn't sure if Tsuyuki did. Probably not.

Medals were from other people, mostly ones who'd never been there. Here. Still feeling pumped up, even though he knew it was over now; he'd just take a quick inventory, note how much product there was (an estimate only) and then back to the office, for congratulations and people slapping his shoulder and maybe a bit of good-natured ribbing from the guys from Customs.

He'd be modest, of course. Tsuyuki'd been the one to find that first photo. Tsuyuki'd been the one to pull the rest of that set of surveillance pictures and put them next to that _other_ set of surveillance pictures and do the math. Takei'd been there; he'd been practically staring over Tsuyuki's shoulder the whole time, and yet he still didn't have a clue how Tsuyuki'd done it.

Clearly, Tsuyuki was some sort of genius.

The kind who told his partner he only needed to worry about four guys, somehow failing to spot the big, hulking guy with the rabid expression (a customer, then, most likely) who'd been lurking behind the merchandise.

 

It wasn't quick, but it was dirty.

Getting beaten up wasn't Takei's favorite pastime or anything, only he'd been there, done that and gotten the training on how to deal with it. The pain, that was. Simple guidelines: don't play the hero ( _being_ one was fine, clearly), don't go in without backup, and don't neglect to seek medical assistance when you feel your injuries aren't serious enough to need it.

The guy Takei faced had about fifty pounds on him, plus a hundred pounds of pure crazy. (Takei wasn't sure how much 'the element of surprise' weighed. Felt like another hundred pounds or so.)

There was a snap when he grabbed Takei's wrist, and a crunch when he introduced Takei to his new ladylove, Ms Wall. No real pain yet; the adrenalin from the bust hadn't completely worn off yet, and of course now there was this new thing to get Takei's blood pumping.

On the other hand, Takei fully expected to be in a certain amount of intense pain shortly. There _might_ be backup coming, but if there were, they'd call out first. He was right-handed, and (of course) his right wrist had been the one to make that decidedly discouraging snapping sound.

It was not impossible he'd be able to get his gun out using his left hand. It was merely very unlikely he'd be able to do anything useful with it, after. Plus, there was a fair chance it would be taken from him.

Getting beaten up was unpleasant. Getting shot was potentially lethal. Takei might not be a genius like Tsuyuki, but it didn't take a genius to do that particular piece of math. An idiot could have done it.

An idiot could also have passed out in front of a hundred-and-fifty pounds of drugged up madman.

Takei prided himself on his brains (looks, too, occasionally); he'd play it cool and just -

 

" - telling what - " someone said. Yelled, really.

Takei smelled coffee, faintly. Disinfectant, more strongly.

" - can't - " someone else said, and then: " - not - "

There were other words, hidden in the gaps. People didn't simply say 'can't' without adding who and what and why and sometimes 'but _I_ can'. Takei just wasn't able to hear them, like he was stuck in some sort of sticky, sound-dampening cocoon.

On second thought, that might just be a blanket.

" - have to - " someone (not the first someone) said. " - home."

He opened his eyes. (Silly; he should have done that right away. At the very least, he would have been able to see who was talking, and where he was, and if it really was a blanket.)

"Kei," some shapeless blob said. _Takei._ " - you - right?" _Are you all right?_

They must have given him something against the pain. Something pretty strong, by the feeling of it.

"Ta - " _Takei?_

"Not dead," he said. "That's good, right? Tell Tsuyuki not to worry. Or celebrate. I'll be back."

A good, rousing effort, he thought. Tsuyuki probably wouldn't get the joke, but he'd appreciate Takei thinking of him, surely. Good results or not; nobody liked a guy who'd gotten his partner killed. It was sheer silly superstition in some cases; accidents happened, and people got injured, and a lot of the time the only ones to blame were the ones doing the injuring. Not always, though.

" - say?" _What did he say?_ Or perhaps: _what did_ you _say?_ which was only marginally better.

 

He didn't remember closing his eyes again.

He did remember the strong smell of disinfectant, which was mostly gone now, and the faint smell of coffee, which was there again. Different roast, though.

There was less stickiness surrounding him, and a lot more pain. An inevitable trade, most likely.

'Pain is good', Kuroda had told him once. At the time, he'd thought it sounded a bit kinky - although of course, coming out of Kuroda's shapely mouth, many things sounded kinky. 'Pain means your body isn't about to roll over and die.'

Takei would be happy to admit he definitely didn't feel like rolling over. He'd probably fall out of bed. Best to focus on happier thoughts.

'I could definitely make you look like a woman.' Kuroda, again. Their very own sexy Chameleon. Still single, as far as anyone knew. Not particularly turned on by men wearing women's clothes. Turned _off_ , possibly, although Takei liked to believe he simply wasn't her type.

Charming, witty and good-looking wasn't everyone's cup of tea.

"Takei? Are you awake?"

Good old Tsuyuki. Probably stuck by Takei's bedside like glue, pretending not to be worried. He'd likely been there earlier, too. His voice still sounded distorted.

If only Takei felt up to turning his head, he might catch Tsuyuki wearing a different expression from 'smug', 'annoyed' or 'bland'.

"Yeah." Best to try something simple, first. No speeches.

A face swam into view. Familiar. Welcome. Not Tsuyuki's. (Takei was a terrible partner.)

"Welcome back among the living."

Shiba.

 

The Yokohama Customs House had a relationship with the NCD much like the police's, except different.

This, at least, was how it was explained to Takei (by Chief Goda, no less) on his second day. There was occasional, friendly rivalry - or occasionally friendly rivalry, depending on who you were talking to. Traditionally, Customs was even smaller than the NCD, though, so they tended to play more nicely.

More viciously, too, sometimes, rumor had it; nothing like being consistently neglected, underfunded and undermanned to bring out the cornered rat instinct in people.

Shiba Toshiki did not act like he was about to go rabid.

He was almost as charming as Takei, nearly as good-looking and just about equally dedicated to his job. He'd also very cleverly grown some facial hair; nobody would ever be telling _him_ he might do for a 'female' decoy in a pinch.

Tsuyuki didn't like him.

Shiba didn't like Tsuyuki.

Takei would have felt part of some sort of love triangle (well, _like_ triangle), except that he knew that when it came to choosing between going on an assignment with Tsuyuki and going on one with Shiba, he knew which one he'd pick.

(He really _was_ a terrible partner.)

Tsuyuki was going to realize this at some point.

 

They were a small branch, and the main branch had their own cases and shortages in personnel to deal with. Customs was busy, too, but they were nearby, and Chief Goda was friendly with their chief (there were rumors of a karaoke night) and always happy to lend a hand, when asked.

Usually, the 'hand' was Shiba. It made sense, really, to pick one guy and make him the unofficial NCD liaison. And Tsuyuki was their branch's best investigator, so it made sense, too, to get Shiba to hook up with him and Takei. Tsuyuki brought in the big cases. Shiba brought in extra help.

Takei brought in nothing but himself. Nothing to scoff at, there.

 

Shiba thought it was hilarious, the way Takei would go and get an undercover assignment at a high school. Disguised as a student.

Tsuyuki merely shrugged and spouted some bits of advice about blending in. Solid advice. Useful advice. Tsuyuki was being a good partner, helping out the new guy.

Takei drew little hearts in his notebooks and wrote Shiba's name in them. A joke. He was fairly sure that Shiba was straight.

After five weeks, they made a bust. A big one. The newspapers called it 'another success for the NCD', but one or two mentioned Customs helping out in the longer article. Chief Goda came in late, the morning after. Rumor had it Tachibana from Intelligence had in her possession a brief, four-point-six minute video fragment of the night before, which she was willing to share, if begged nicely.

 

Five weeks was pretty quick, really.

Section two fielded operations that took five _months_. There were no slouches in Section two, even if, of course, international busts could require a longer period of observation.

Moving in after only one week of surveillance might be considered reckless.

"We have everything we need," Tsuyuki argued. "We should move in _now_." What he meant was that they _could_ move now. As long as he didn't get spooked, the dealer wasn't going to change hs routine. He'd still be there next week, and the one after that.

It was the Chief's call. "Takei?" 

The Chief made it Takei's, instead. "I think we can do it."

 

Not a bad call, as such. They'd made the bust, no trouble.

One dealer, three bodyguards, regular as clockwork. Easy-peasy. Tsuyuki talked all of them through the whole thing three times, and then Takei one time extra. Takei didn't take it as an insult. Tsuyuki hadn't meant it as one.

Tsuyuki also hadn't meant to make the bust on the one night when there was an extra person in the warehouse. He'd assumed Takei would be perfectly safe, looking at the inventory.

He'd called Customs to let them know about some additional, non-narcotics found on the premises, and Customs had sent over Shiba. Tsuyuki had been on his way to the office when Takei had gotten jumped. Shiba had been maybe two blocks away, and moving in the right direction.

And so Shiba had ended up with Takei's unconscious body (he'd come too late to catch Takei's attacker). Tsuyuki only heard about it after Takei'd been turned over to the hospital staff, and he heard it from the Chief, because that was who Shiba had called.

Insult to injury.

 

The bad news had been that, in addition to throwing around Takei's body, the customer had also torn up some packages of merchandise. Looking for a fix, likely as not, although if you asked Takei, the man had been as far gone as could be already.

It didn't bother the NCD much that they'd lost some product this way (they were only going to destroy it anyway) but the combination of drugs-in-the-form-of-powder combined with an unconscious, bleeding NCD investigator had been cause for concern. It was probably good Takei hadn't been wearing his favorite shirt. Or trousers. Or shoes.

The good news, of course, had been that Takei wasn't dead.

 

Shiba refused to let him have any coffee, but he did offer soup.

"Home-made?" Takei tried cautiously. Two syllables. Still, his hearing was practically back to normal by now, and his wrist hurt like it was broken instead of 'merely' bruised. He figured there was a certain amount of trading off going on here.

His voice seemed to be working. "Absolutely."

"You cook?" Takei considered adding a third syllable, but adding 'well' might have been considered insulting.

Shiba had never had a problem with Takei insulting him before, but he'd probably insult Takei right back. It was generally considered to be a bad idea to laugh with cracked ribs.

"I'm an excellent cook," Shiba said. He had brought a bowl and a spoon and sat down as if he were expecting to feed Takei, the way one would an ill or injured person.

Shiba had seen Takei's notebooks from his second time as a high school student. Takei wouldn't have bothered drawing hearts in them otherwise.

Unlike Tsuyuki, Shiba had a sense of humor.

"Open up."

Not excellent, perhaps, and possibly canned (question: if Shiba had been here all along, how and when would he have been able to make soup?). It was good, though. Very good. Takei'd have to ask him what kind it had been, later.

 

Takei didn't want painkillers. Call it professional paranoia.

He'd seen what happened to people who took pills to make their pain go away. Not him. Never him.

Shiba didn't mention the painkillers they'd given him at the hospital, after they'd made sure Takei didn't have any strange drugs in his system. Shiba knew how to be tactful, even if he sometimes chose not to be.

"More soup?" Still on the two syllables. "I'd like some." Better.

"It's a family recipe, you know," Shiba said. Takei pictured an older woman, Shiba's face, saying: 'You want soup? Go and buy some at the supermarket.' Then she grew a beard.

"Are you cold?" Shiba, concerned. Clueless about what Takei had been picturing.

"A little." Would Shiba offer a hug? Sharing body heat? Surely not. By way of a joke, perhaps. Takei could go along, for a while, make it a game of chicken.

"I'll get you another blanket."

 

"So what's the secret ingredient?" Takei'd been permitted coffee today. Tomorrow, he might be allowed to return to work - 'for a few hours', the doctor had said, although he had to know how futile it was to throw around that sort of vague instructions.

Shiba looked tired. Takei wondered, suddenly and guiltily, how long it had been since Shiba had had a normal night's sleep, in his own bed.

"The usual one." Shiba grinned.

Takei would never get him to admit he'd bought the soup in cans from the supermarket downstairs. He'd narrowed it down to two brands, both more expensive than the ones Takei got for himself.

_The usual one._

"Would you like to meet my parents?"

Takei's parents might be impressed by Tsuyuki. Especially if he brought his medals, although then they might expect Takei to earn some, too, and that might be awkward. Takei didn't care about medals.

If he introduced them to Shiba, they'd become even more convinced than they were now that their second son was headed for the same bad ending as their first one.

 

"Good to have you back." Tsuyuki looked and sounded sincere enough. As one co-worker greeting another.

They weren't friends. Takei hadn't wanted them to be friends, so, really, it wasn't as if he had any right to complain about it now. "Good to be back."

Had Tsuyuki wanted them to be friends? Six months as his partner, and Takei still couldn't tell. Perhaps that said all that needed saying on the subject.

"Chief wants to see you." There was an odd pause at the end, as if Tsuyuki considered adding something, then thought better of it.

Shiba was nowhere to be seen, Takei noted. Of course, it wasn't as if he worked here. After two weeks of playing nursemaid, he might well be sick of Takei's company. At the very least, he'd have a lot of work stacked up at Customs.

"Thanks." If he was lucky, it'd be a new case.

 

It was a new something, all right. A _chance_ at a new something, at any rate.

"We don't usually break up partners," Goda said. "And so I'd like to stress that this isn't, in any way, meant to be a slight on either your or Tsuyuki's performance." Silly idea: Tsuyuki was their top investigator. Not so silly idea: he might have felt Takei to be holding him back.

"I understand."

Goda nodded, as if he believed Takei to have swallowed the pretty lie. _You weren't a good partner to Tsuyuki._ Or should that be: _for_ Tsuyuki?

"Ultimately, the choice is yours," Goda said. "You've been working closely with Shiba already, and I know he's a good man. Of course, you'd be expected to help out at Customs occasionally, too, but I don't believe that should be too much of a problem." _Find a way to wriggle out of it. Make Shiba one of us, more than he is one of them._

Naturally, Shiba'd have been given the same instructions.

_Should be fun._


End file.
